


The Trip

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Betrayal, Brotherhood AU, Bullying, Childhood Trauma, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Fear of Death, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, Hurt/Comfort, LSD, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 01, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Sixteen-year-old, Caleb Reaves is betrayed by his friends, leaving him spiraling and out-of-control. Thankfully, his family is there to catch him as he falls. [Brotherhood AU Characters created by Ridley C. James and Tidia.]
Series: Suitcase of Memories [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Dec. 1987 – before Ridley C. James’s ‘Rites of Passage’ and after my chapter: ‘Filmstrips and Striptease’.  
> Warnings for psychedelic drugs, mentions of sex, suicide ideation, and mental illness.

Every so often Dr. Mackland Ames felt the need to treat his father to dinner. It was a time where he and his father could bond away from the curious ears of his sixteen-year-old while his son spent time at a friend's house. The evening was also a time where he could take a short break from said teenaged son and engage in less overly dramatic socialization. He always started off the evening with the intention of not speaking about Caleb all night, yet usually failed within the first twenty minutes of sitting down. It never failed that Cullen would ask about his grandson and Mac would tell him the latest escapade that the small family found themselves in.

Once, Mac had told his father the plan not to talk about Caleb during dinner – after all, they both were men with prestigious careers that led interesting lives. Cullen spent the evening laughing while his son struggled to find a subject that didn't relate to Caleb. His father bet him a twenty that he couldn't last an hour without mentioning his son. His father should have known better because Mackland did particularly well when challenged. Mac started describing the latest surgical technique that he'd read in a medical journal when his father simply handed him the twenty – begging him to stop talking ten minutes in before he fell asleep from boredom.

Who was he kidding? Cullen was a far better conversationalist, experienced with the art of chit-chat during his business meetings. Mackland also knew that Cullen treasured every story shared about his grandson – making it even more difficult to find a new topic because his father's questions always redirected the dialog to the person who made them both the happiest.

The restaurant was charming, newly opened by the daughter of one of Cullen's associates. Cullen had promised to drop in when offered the table at his golf club. The food served was classic Italian with a 'modern twist' – which simply meant that they served freshly baked bread with a dipping sauce made of olive oil infused spices. Mackland usually ordered the lasagna while his father selected meat and cheese stuffed ravioli as the 'comparison dish' to which the restaurant was judged against their favorite eateries.

Mac took a bite, wincing as the cheese burnt the top of his palette. "How's the food, son?" Cullen asked, cutting into a ravioli then dipping it into the marinara sauce before tasting his dish.

"It could be better; the sauce is a bit too acidic." Mac critiqued honestly. "What do you think?"

Before Cullen could begin, Mac dropped his fork and clutched his head in pain – crying out loudly enough that the people at the next tables stopped eating and asked if they needed assistance.

"Help! Help me, please." Caleb's voice screamed in his father's mind, unrestrained. Mac fought to keep control, knowing time was of the essence. "Caleb, where are you? Show me." He repeated the request several times until he was flashed a street sign that seemed pulsating. A familiar house with gaudy decorations that he and Caleb had secretly made fun of.

Cullen grabbed tightly his wrist. "Son, are you alright? What's wrong?" The older man knew that his son was psychic and sometimes experienced flashes of people in trouble. Most of the time, they appeared at will – when he touched an object that a person felt attached to. Cullen knew of a few visions that came unsolicited. They could have good consequences – such as his son saving a twelve-year-old boy and then adopting him. Or they could be evil; chipping away at Mackland's soul as he felt enormous guilt at being too late to prevent death or injury.

Immediately, his son pulled out his phone to dial Caleb. There was no answer. "Caleb's in trouble. I have to go, Dad."

Cullen threw a Grant ($50 bill) at the table, not bothering to ask for a check as he followed his son as he ran out the door. "I'm coming with you." He'd call his friend when he got home to explain what happened once they both knew his grandson was safe.

Mac quickly waved down his father's driver, not waiting for it to stop before jumping inside. Cullen followed behind, heart-in-throat. An address was growled to the driver with the order to drive fast.

"Mackland, please – what happened?"

"I don't know – he's terrified. He's still at his friend's apartment." Mac cupped his mouth to keep from yelling. "He was screaming for help, Dad."

Cullen thought ahead, problem-solving, "If he's at his friend's house, can we call them? Do you have their phone number?"

Shaking himself out of the paralyzing fear, Mac pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number for Pietro Kovacs, Caleb's friend. The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up. In the same vein, he dialed Jennifer Barret – the girl that Caleb spent time with and considered his girlfriend. She also did not pick up her phone. "They aren't picking up," Mac spoke, haunted.

He tried one more phone number, and they finally picked up. "Mr. Kovacs, this is Dr. Ames. Are you or your wife at home?" Cullen listened intently to his son's half of the conversation, wanting to take the phone but patiently allowed Mackland to handle it his way. "You and your wife are out of town? So, your son is at home alone. Yes, I do indeed understand that he's seventeen and can stay at home on his own. My son, Caleb is with him at your home and I'm worried because I cannot reach his friends by phone. They aren't answering. Your attitudes are very permissive. All of those 'worst case' scenarios are illegal. That's beside the point, I am going to get my son. If I see any illegal activity, I will call the police. Don't insult me, Kovacs! I would recommend you and your wife get home as soon as you can."

Cullen sat back, "What did Kovacs say to insult you? Was he offering to pay you off?"

Mac was fuming, "Yes, in return for keeping things 'quiet' as to not affect his son's chances at college and the family name."

Looking out the window, Cullen shook his head, "Family name? Who the hell are they? Where are we going? This isn't the Upper East Side!"

Confirming his father's sense of direction, he explained, "No, the Kovacs live further down the East Side."

Livid, Cullen started shouting, "And they thought they could pay you off? Do they not know the Ames family? Bottom feeders!"

Mac rubbed his face, "Dad, please! Right now, we need to get to Caleb. I could care less about the Kovacs."

Cullen sobered at that, worried. "Is he still crying for help?"

Mac nodded.

It didn't take long to arrive at the apartment building. The apartment was cookie-cutter as the architecture in Stuyvesant Town. Mackland guided his father towards the 3rd-floor apartment, pushing past teenagers loitering with beers or joints in their hands and others whose lips seemed glued together. It seemed that Pietro planned a party without his parents' supervision. Cullen covered his nose, snootily, at the smell of marijuana.

They didn't bother knocking on the door, as it was open to the teens coming in and out. It was loud with music blasting. Mac was surprised the police weren't called earlier. A few kids noticed their arrival and froze – pointing at them in nervousness. Mac quickly found the 'host' of the party surrounded by his friends, Caleb not among them. "Pietro!" Mac shouted. Suddenly, the music died down and a hush came across the room.

Cullen was by the stereo system and had unplugged it with a smirk. "There's no need to shout, son. We can have a civilized conversation."

"Where's Caleb?" Mac got down to business – he didn't care about these out-of-control children; only his own.

Pietro turned pale and panicky. "Dr. Ames, I didn't know you were picking up Caleb. He said that you gave him permission to stay the night."

With a deep breath, Mac answered, "I did. However, I changed my mind and now would like to take him home. Where is he?"

Jennifer had been on the couch and handed off a joint to a friend as if the two older men were blind to her activities. She stood up and pulled down her short skirt a half-inch as if it were enough to cover her panty line. "Dr. Ames, I think Caleb left about a half-hour ago."

He'd been angry before, and now, he was furious. "Dad, call the police. Jennifer - Pietro, tell me where Caleb is – Right Now!"

At the word 'police', the entire room unfroze, and teenagers started running out the door leaving their host staring down at his feet in shame. Mac had half a mind to psychically slam the doors and pull a 'Carrie' to scare them. Jennifer – the girl his son was starting to fall in love (or perhaps lust) with, was practically the first person out the door as she scrambled over her friends in 3-inch heels.

"Pietro, please," Mac pled similar to his son, still telepathically begging him for help.

Pietro mumbled, "we put him in the closet."

Mac's eyebrows shot up, "the closet?"

"It was supposed to be a joke – except he went Schizo and we didn't know what to do but put him there to keep him from hurting anyone 'til he stopped trippin'."

Mac grasped the kid's shoulders and fought to keep from shaking him. "Show me where he is."

The seventeen-year-old walked into his parent's bedroom with the two older men following behind and unlocked the walk-in closet where he'd forced his friend inside.

Pushing past the teen, Mac found his son hiding under some long dresses, not only tied up but also gagged. "You tied him up?!" Mac quickly knelt and untied him, removing the cloth wrapped around his head to free his mouth. "Caleb –"

As soon as the cloth was removed, Caleb started screaming in horror, not recognizing his family. He started hyperventilating, dictating while gasping for breath, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

"Caleb, you're safe. We're not demons." Mac tried to soothe his son.

Caleb was not cognizant enough to understand, continuing the memorized exorcism. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" Mac loosened his arms, trying to keep his calm.

Cullen was in shock. "What is this?" He whipped towards Caleb's so-called friend. "Did you drug him?"

Mac paused and looked at the young man his father was currently interrogating. It was obvious that Caleb had been drugged – but depending on the drug and dosage, what could be an inconvenient night could quickly turn into a medical emergency.

"We thought it'd be funny. Slipped him a 'sugar cube' in his drink. He didn't know – it doesn't have a taste or anything."

"A sugar-cube?" Cullen asked, confused. "Why would that affect him?"

"Dad, 'Sugar-Cube' is the street name for LSD. Pietro, what was the dose?" Mac demanded to know.

Pietro looked dazed, most likely because of his own 'high'. "I dunno – something like 150 mg or something. It was just one cube though."

Cullen looked disgusted, "Why would you do that to your friend?" He didn't bother to stay to find out the answer – stepping outside of the bedroom balcony to get some air. His grandson was still in the corner of the closet screaming and ranting in Latin, the terror Caleb was experiencing was unlike anything Cullen had ever seen of the confident sixteen-year-old.

His son was trying to get Caleb to come out, trying to get him to stop screaming. The only positive is that 150 mg of LSD would wear off in a day.

The police lights were bright in the dark neighborhood as they approached the apartment. Cullen went back inside. "Mackland, we need to leave. The police are here."

Mackland had taken a small coat from the closet and wrapped it around Caleb, purposefully leaving his arms at his sides while he zipped it up; creating a modified straight jacket to keep him from attacking them in his panic. The boy was crying now – begging for them not to hurt him. Screaming about yellow-eyes, demons, his mother, a baby. Every word coated in horror.

"Do we need to take him to a hospital, son?" Cullen asked over the screams.

Mac hugged his son, running his hands through his long black hair. "No, we'll just help him ride this out the next few hours. A hospital will make it worse. He's terrified of them on a good day."

"I've never seen an acid trip this bad…" Cullen wiped at his mouth.

Practically carrying the boy out the door, the three of them struggled towards the elevator, deciding to skip the stairs for safety concerns. By the time they'd reached the hall, the police were upstairs.

One of the older officers had a hand on his gun, still holstered. "Is there a problem here?"

Cullen stepped up, "I'm Cullen Ames. I called the police. My grandson had been tied up in a closet after those – hooligans dosed him with LSD. My son and I are going to take him home. Teenagers were coming in and out – doing drugs, underage drinking, and most likely having sex throughout the home while the Kovacs family is out of town. We had called them earlier this evening to ask about my grandson's whereabouts, they seemed blasé regarding the illegal activities in their home."

The boy was still crying and screaming – trembling at the sight of the police officers. Mac had stepped in front of them, trying to keep Caleb from collapsing – leaning him against the wall. "I'm sorry, officers. I need to take my son out of here and into a safe environment. I can give you my card for a statement and to press charges in the morning if that would be acceptable."

"You're going to press charges?" the junior partner asked in surprise. "They're just a bunch of stupid kids."

"Yes, I am. While I don't claim to be a lawyer, I have several friends in the field. I believe slipping a drug into someone's drink without their consent constitutes second-degree assault. Tying and gagging someone in your parents' closet could perhaps be tried as unlawful imprisonment."

The senior officer stepped in front of his partner, nodding, "yes, sir. That's accurate – you could technically call that assault and battery as well. Can one of you show us where he was being held? We'll take photos for evidence. Before letting you go, I'd also like to take a photo of your son. Again, the more evidence we have – the faster the case closes." The officer inched his way towards the teenager, "what's his name?"

"Caleb."

The officer was gentle, but it didn't matter to Caleb. In his mind, he was back in his nightmares. "Was that the gag?" He asked about the cloth tucked around his neck. He took a photo of it with a small film camera. Caleb continued to scream – his chest heaving under the strain.

Mac held him, trying to calm him, speaking soothing nothings. None of it worked as he continued repeating the exorcism as loudly as he could. "Was the jacket around him?"

Shaking his head, Mac explained, "my son is experiencing vivid hallucinations – he's terrified and was trying to self-harm by scratching at his wrists. Once I got him out of the rope, I wrapped the jacket around him to prevent further injury. The ropes are still in the closet – and my father can show you the room. I'd like to take him home now. Once I get home, I'll take photos of his injuries for documentation and write up a report. I'll also make sure to take a sample of his blood and send it to the station's laboratory for analysis."

The officer looked surprised, "are you in law enforcement?"

Mac nodded, "I'm a consultant to the FBI. I'll reach out to you in the morning." He pulled out a business card, one with his FBI credentials, and handed it to the officer. "Thank you for your help with this. Dad? I'll meet you at home if you could please assist the officers."

"Dr. Ames," Senior Officer Danvers read the name from the card, "In my experience, LSD can bring out some nasty stuff, including some undiagnosed mental disorders. Your kid looks like he might need some professional help. I can call for an ambulance?"

"No – thank you. I can handle this – I just need to get him home." With that, he guided a still struggling Caleb to the elevator.

Once they were in the elevator, Mac tried once again to calm his fears and break through the nightmare world Caleb's mind was in. Caleb looked and smelled of fear: pupils dilated, sweating, panting for breath, and panicked. He backed himself into the corner of the metal box, reciting the exorcism and trying to rip the jacket off.

Mac mirrored him, stepping into the other corner, and finishing the praying in unison, "tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos! I'm not a demon, Caleb. It's Mac. You're safe with me." He purposefully didn't use the honored 'Dad' title in his son's confusion; there was a good chance that his son was seeing his demon-possessed birth father.

Harsh breaths filled the tiny space, "Caleb, slow down. Slow your breathing… everything is alright. You're with me."

Caleb blinked rapidly, finally seeing him. "Mac – you'll save me? Mac'll help me?"

"Always," Mac promised lovingly, keeping his tone warm and friendly. "I will always save you. You did a good job, son. You called me for help and I'm so proud of you."

In the next blink, his son had thrown himself across the elevator to his father. Mac wrapped his arms around him tightly. "You're okay. We'll go home, get some water, and take care of you."

The elevator opened and Mac guided him to the car. The driver had to help him get Caleb inside. Once he was in the car, his son claimed the lights were loud and that he was being chased by ghosts. Caleb kept asking for a gun, which thankfully he was not carrying, alarming his father's driver.

"Sir, where's your father? Should we wait?"

Mac gave a tight smile, "no, thank you, Gerald. We need to head to my house. Once you drop us off, if you can come back here and pick up my father – it would be appreciated. He's working with the police officers and giving his statement."

Gerald seemed nervous but nodded his consent when he put the car in drive. "Can I ask what happened, sir?"

"Teenagers being left to their own devices and a worst-case scenario," Mac stated matter-of-factly.

He spent the rest of the trip trying to keep his son from unwrapping his arms and throwing himself out of a moving vehicle. "Gerald, do you have control to keep the doors from being opened, a child-safety lock? If you do, I'd appreciate it if you could enable the feature."

Finally, what seemed like days later, they were in front of their apartment complex. The doorman held the door for them in shock, seeing his client's son significantly impaired. The sixteen-year-old was still fighting, screaming in Latin, and trying to run away. "Do you need help to get him inside, Dr. Ames?"

"Yes, please. I'm trying to keep him from running into traffic at the moment." Between the two men, they pulled the kicking and screaming teenager into the building. It took Mac, the doorman, night guard, one of the maids, and the building manager to get the boy into their home.

Mac begged them to hold him steady while he ran around the apartment and pulled the kitchen drawers, glasses, knives, and cleaning chemicals out from reach to store in his locked office until the drug ran its course. Then, he ran into the bathroom to do the same there – removing the razor blades, over-the-counter medications, and anything else that the boy could use as a weapon or to self-harm. When he returned, the small group was surrounding his son. The teen was on the floor, curled into a fetal ball crying. He'd finally gotten the [straight]jacket off – the zipper ripped and thrown aside.

The maid, a sweet woman named Carla, was crying too. Mac came over and gave her a quick hug, then kissed her cheek in thanks. "Thank you for your help, Carla. When Caleb's feeling better, I'll have him call you." He turned towards the rest of the staff, wanting to make sure he told them the truth. "I'm sorry that you have to see this, but I wanted to tell you that Caleb didn't do this on purpose – his friends thought it would be funny to dose him unknowingly with LSD. Thank you all for your help."

The building manager was quick to assure Dr. Ames that they knew that Caleb wouldn't do this of his own volition. The night guard, Mike, offered additional assistance throughout the night. "Just call the office, and I'll come up to help. You don't have to handle this alone, Dr. Ames." They shook his hand or clasped his shoulder before walking out to leave them alone. Mac followed behind thanking them once again, making sure to lock the door. A locked door might not slow down Caleb for long, but it would help. He went over to the sink, filled a plastic cup with water then and pulled out a container of salt from the cabinet and a crucifix necklace from their junk drawer, hoping that it might help make his son feel safer.

Caleb was still curled in a ball on the floor, whimpering. Mac sat next to him and pulled him close enough that Caleb's head was pillowed on his father's thigh. He helped him with the cup, letting him take a gulp of water. A second later, Caleb sputtered, "Mac, please – make them stop."

Mac held out the necklace to his son, helping him slip it over his neck. Caleb clutched the cross tightly in his palm. "Who's they? What are you seeing?"

Stuttering, Caleb was able to explain, "De-mons, they want t-to t-take me, Mac."

Mac held out the salt canister, "Let's make sure that they can't. We'll sit in the salt ring and then they won't be able to get to us, right?"

Caleb quickly grasped the salt, then moved away to encircle the couch, coffee table, and rug in salt until the container was empty. Once the ring was drawn, he quickly huddled next to his father, still trembling. Mac handed him the cup of water, encouraging him to drink another sip. "It won't hold them. They want me, Mac. They want me because I'm evil – like them."

Mac's tone was soft, trying to deescalate his son's biggest fear. "Why do you feel that way?"

Weeping, his son buried his face in his father's shoulder, "I'm a monster. I have demon-blood in me. I have to die."

Heart-breaking, Mac forced his own emotions aside, "What will happen if you die?" He ran his hand through Caleb's soft long hair, opting to comfort him.

"The demons will leave me alone. I won't give them what they want."

"Son, there aren't any demons in our home right now. It's just you and me. Your grandfather will be here soon and then it'll just be our family here."

"No!" Caleb pulled away. "He can't come here. Tell Grandpa to go away."

"Why do you want him to go away?"

"He doesn't know that I'm a monster. I don't want him to find out, Mac."

"Your grandfather loves you. He wants to be with you."

"He'll die, Mac. I can't let him – no!" Caleb started screaming again, afraid.

"Son, son – please. You're confused right now because you are on a drug called LSD – it can make you hallucinate."

"I need to die so the demons can't get me. Can you help me?" Caleb panted, hands on his head – the very picture of someone going insane.

Mac came closer, "Of course, I will help you. Would you like to take a nap on the couch? Maybe after you get some rest, you can come up with a better plan." Caleb looked at the couch as if it housed the secrets of the universe. Mac continued along that same path, "Would you like more water?"

"Yeah, I'm thirsty." Caleb nodded as if he were a bobble-head doll.

The doctor handed him the plastic cup – it didn't have much water as most had spilled on the floor because of his son's shaking but would keep him occupied for the next minute. He helped Caleb to the couch, handing him a pillow to squeeze. For a while, it was quiet.

The knock on the door made them both jump. Mac got up to open the door and was nearly tackled by his son. "No, you can't get out of the salt. They'll get you, Mac!"

Twisting in his arms, he stepped them both back towards the couch. "You're right. Thank you for saving me, Caleb."

"Mackland?" His father's voice came from the front door.

"Dad, use your key," Mac called back loudly, while he held Caleb as he was screaming that they needed to run.

As soon as Cullen crossed the threshold, the panicked screams increased. "Run, we have to run – he's a demon. They got Grandpa."

Mac kneeled, taking Caleb's face in his hands. "Son, we can't run. We're safest inside the circle of salt. Demons can't cross, remember? If we run, they can capture us. We're good here, see – the line of salt isn't broken."

Caleb's breaths slowed but were still erratic. "He's a demon. They got Grandpa." He pointed at the elderly man as if he were the devil himself.

Thinking strategically, Mac used the supernatural to his advantage. "Caleb, can a demon drink holy water?" His father stared at them worriedly.

"No, it'll burn 'em." Caleb gasped. "We need holy water."

Mac let his hands trail down his shoulders and arms, "we have some. It's in the bar, remember?"

"Yeah."

"So, why don't we ask Grandpa to take a sip of holy water? If he's possessed by a demon, it'll expel it from his body. If he's' not, then he can get in the circle with us and stay safe. What do you think of that plan?"

"Yeah, okay. That's good. Grandpa, drink the holy water… quick!" Caleb frantically commanded.

Cullen went over to the bar area and picked up what looked like a pitcher of water. Mac nodded, "Yes, that's it." He poured some in a cup and then chugged it back quickly. It looked and tasted exactly like water. No difference.

Caleb collapsed on the floor, crying and laughing happily. "He's not a demon, Mac. He's okay."

"Dad, you can come into the circle with us. It'll be safer." Mac explained, looking at his father in the eyes, trying to communicate wordlessly. "Yes, son. He's okay. Our family is safe."

As soon as Cullen crossed the line of salt, Caleb jumped up and hugged him tightly, crying from relief. Cullen wrapped his arms around his grandson, silent in his fear. Mac came up and grasped his father's arms, giving him a wince of a smile. Over Caleb's shoulder, Cullen gave him a ghost of a smile back.

He let the boy hug him, waiting until he was no longer shaking from freight before pulling away with a smile. "I missed you, Caleb. Come and sit down with me so we can catch up." The old man pretended that everything was alright.

Mac left the circle while Caleb was preoccupied and poured some water into a plastic pitcher and brought over some plastic cups. He wasn't going to provide glass unless he could help it. His son was terrifyingly focused on dying.

Cullen had Caleb sitting beside him on the couch, discussing the latest baseball season passionately. Well, the old man was speaking passionately, and Caleb was nodding along, nearly bouncing in his psychedelic state. "Stop - Grandpa stop moving around. Are we on fire?"

"No," Mac quickly assured him, taking hold of his hands as they patted his grandfather as if he were aflame. "There's no fire." He took the pitcher and filled a cup with water. "See, we have water – and water puts out fire, right?"

Caleb took the cup from his hand and immediately splashed the two men in front of him with water. Cullen sputtered, pulling out his handkerchief to pat his face dry, then did the same for his son. "Thank you, Caleb." Mac played along. "That was kind of you to save us."

Then the boy pulled away, grabbing the first object he saw, a pen from his father's shirt pocket. Pen-in-hand he crawled to the edge of the salt line to draw a large pentagram on the hard-wood floor. Mac winced when he thought of how much it would cost to resurface.

Cullen went over to his son, pulling him close so that he could whisper. "Son, I grew up in the 60s. I've – partaken once or twice, but I've never seen anyone have such a bad trip."

Mac lay a hand on his father's shoulder, trying to explain quietly. "Nowadays, the concentrations and potency of LSD (which you probably knew growing up as Acid) are stronger. The effects are entirely dependent on the person's experiences and mindsets. You've probably never seen such a 'bad trip' because you've never seen anyone take it that suffered severe trauma. When Caleb was tied up and locked inside the closet, it triggered disturbing memories of his parents' deaths."

"Mackland, I've always tried to keep an open mind as you know; I know that your work regarding the paranormal…" Cullen seemed hesitant to continue, so Mac encouraged him to continue with a gentle squeeze. "Do you and Caleb worship the devil?" He looked pointedly at the pentagram being etched into the floor. "I've heard about it on the news lately… if that's something you're both – passionate about –."

Mac had to laugh lightly at the assumption. "No, Dad. We don't worship the devil and I ask you to please stop watching Channel 7 Eyewitness News; it's fear-mongering. Thank you for being supportive of the idea. I'm glad to know if we were devil worshippers that we wouldn't be disowned."

Cullen pointed at the symbol again, "Isn't that summoning the devil or something like it?"

Mac nodded towards the couch, "Let's sit down." Then sat then watched Caleb draw on the floor as if he were a toddler – intently holding the pen to make sure it was perfect. "What Caleb is doing is protecting us. The symbol that he's drawing is a pentagram or a five-pointed-star. It can also be called a pentacle or the Star of Solomon, but the name isn't as important as its usefulness. It has magical properties and to some cultures, is as important as the Cross. When drawn upright, it does the opposite of summoning the devil. It forces the evil creatures away. Caleb's terrified that a demon is going to attack us, so, he's doing everything in his power to protect us."

Cullen seemed a bit shell-shocked, swallowing, understanding but still confused. "Why is he terrified of demons?"

Mac sat back tiredly, "I believe Shakespeare said it best. 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" For a while, he sat quietly watching Caleb's ornate drawing on the floor. It seemed his artistic streak was emerging while tripping out on LSD. The pentagram was now being accented in rose vines. "I wasn't planning to do any of this tonight, Dad. I thought we'd have a quiet dinner and then go to bed."

"The joys of fatherhood, son. Every day is a surprise." Cullen smiled. "It's alright, Mackland. You don't have to tell me anymore if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I'm starting to figure that out for myself." He rubbed at his mustache, "I want to tell you. I've been wanting to for so long…"

Cullen sat forward, listening, "Seems like a good night for it, son."

"The demons that Caleb are frightened of – they're real, Dad. Demons, ghosts, poltergeists, werewolves – all those supernatural entities that are treated as fiction, they're real. The group that I work with, the Brotherhood, our jobs are to protect people from them by hunting them down and eliminating them."

"Why haven't you said anything? I knew about your interest in paranormal studies… I haven't said anything disparaging to you about it." Cullen exclaimed quietly.

"I know, Dad. It wasn't you – I – it was my way of protecting you. Your life, your friends – you've always been outside of the dangers that I've seen in the supernatural world. I was hoping that if I kept it from you, you'd continue to stay safe."

"I don't understand, son. Why would you indoctrinate Caleb in that lifestyle? If you keep it from me to protect me, why wouldn't you also keep it from Caleb to protect him? I'm an old man – he has his whole life ahead of him."

It pained the doctor to speak about it, but he forced himself to recount how he met his son. "Caleb has known about the supernatural world since he was five years old. He's terrified of demons because his father was possessed with one before he murdered his mother. Demons have been chasing him for years and were responsible for the subsequent murder/suicide of his foster family in '83. When I found him four years ago, he'd been crying out psychically for help. No one understood him. No one ever believed him."

"You did, son. You believed him." Cullen spoke confidently.

Mac nodded, "I did. I couldn't let him live with another person who'd think him mentally ill and needing to be institutionalized."

"He's psychic like you… I figured it out when you were hospitalized."

"He's stronger than I am, Dad. Or he will be once he's trained. His ability manifests in a different way than mine. Once he's back to Earth, you can ask him about it." Mac got up off the couch and patted Cullen's knee on the way to his feet.

"Caleb, son, did you eat dinner?" He kneeled on the floor so that he could reach his son, then slipped a couple of fingertips against his neck to take his pulse.

"I'm not hungry," Caleb quickly replied, continuing the drawing as if he weren't interrupted.

"Caleb, can you look at me for a minute?" Mac lifted his chin so he could see his pupils. They were still dilated.

Caleb pulled away, huffing, "Dad, you're ruining it! Move!" He grabbed the pen and started drawing thicker lines of vines in agitation.

Mac surrendered, not wanting to spark aggression or anger. As long as Caleb was content drawing on the floor, it was safe. His son wasn't paying attention, so he took the time to unlock his office and grab his medical bag. He made sure to take out anything dangerous like the scalpels but kept the needles and blood collection tubes.

He stepped over the salt line, then kneeled next to Caleb once again. "Son, is it okay if I examine you? I'd like to take a blood sample."

Caleb stopped his erratic sketching as if someone hit his 'off' switch. "Is it because you think I have demon blood?" His eyes filled with unshed tears.

Mac gently cupped his skull, "No, Caleb. I don't think you have demon blood. I need the blood sample to collect evidence that you were dosed with LSD against your will. Do you know what LSD is?"

The bobble-head was back, "Yeah – yeah."

"Let's sit up and I'll take your blood then. If you hold still for me, I'll give you a lollipop." Mac said tongue-in-cheek.

Caleb seemed attentive enough to catch his father's amusement. "I'm not five."

"I'm aware." Mac positioned his son, quickly tied the tourniquet while the boy was ranting, then inserted the needle. The BD Vacutainer was inserted a second later, and he needed to hold down Caleb's arm down to keep it from moving.

"I'm a man, you know. I had sex. I had lots of sex. More than you. And I'm strong. And I kick butt. I could be a ninja turtle."

Cullen started laughing from the couch, while Mackland rolled his eyes. "Yes, son. You're an incredible man and could be a ninja turtle." He pulled out the needle quickly and replaced it with a band-aid. He stored the tube of blood in his bag, then took out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. Less than a minute later, he had taken a set of vitals that he wasn't happy with and had let Caleb scramble away.

Packing his medical supplies, he caught Caleb crying again. "Son, are you alright? Why are you crying?"

"You didn't give me the lollipop. I was good."

It took a beat, but he reached inside his medical bag and pulled out two lollipops. He kept them in case of emergency for any child(ren) that he might run into. Plus, they were quick forms of sugar in the event of a diabetic incident. Caleb snatched them out of his hand, took the wrappers off, and stuffed them both in his mouth at one time, giving him chipmunk-like cheeks.

Cullen kept laughing, "Son, didn't you promise the police officers that you'd take photos?"

Hands on his hips, he scolded "Dad, please!"

Cullen forced himself to stop laughing, "Is he alright?"

"It's textbook LSD – high heart rate, blood pressure, and respiration along with dilated pupils, perspiration, and shakiness. He should be alright tomorrow. We just need to keep things calm this evening." Mac took his bag and went back into his office to call for a courier.

Locking the door behind him, he grabbed a notepad and sat back on the couch to write up a report on Caleb's condition while things were quiet. Surreptitiously, he took photos of Caleb's wrists and neck while he was focused on the pentagram. It didn't take long for Caleb to finish his artwork on the floor. He threw himself on the chair, then turned himself around so that his head was on the floor and his feet were in the air. "The world is turning. The walls are like waves – it's blue."

He'd been shaking so badly that he fell to the floor. Once he was there, he decided to spin himself. Mac caught him on the fifth spin, speaking softly. "You'll make yourself dizzy, Caleb. You don't want to throw up, do you?"

"Nooo," Caleb mumbled.

"Can you lie down? Take a nap?" Mac suggested, praying that his son would listen. Much to his surprise, he did; flopping on the floor arms extended like he was making snow angels. "Here's a pillow for your head." Once he completed that task, Mac pulled a throw blanket over him.

Caleb closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.

While he 'slept' Mac went into the kitchen to put together a few peanut butter sandwiches. Neither he nor his father had finished their meal. It was likely that they would need their strength this evening. A typical 'trip' lasted anywhere from 6 to 15 hours. If he could get Caleb to sleep, the time spent in fear would be less. Their saving grace was that he'd not attempted to 'fly' like so many others – by jumping off a building.

He used paper plates and grabbed a few napkins. Usually, they would eat at the table – but he was willing to stretch the rules to keep things calm. He handed the first plate to his father, then placed the second next to Caleb. Immediately, his son opened his eyes and grabbed the sandwich. He tried to stuff the entire thing in his mouth at once – like the lollipops.

"You have to chew it, so you don't choke." Mac sat in front of him, waiting until he'd swallowed before handing him a small piece of his own sandwich. Caleb stared at it like his father was tricking him but stuffed it in his mouth. They continued in small pieces until Caleb devoured both sandwiches. He was happy that his son could eat – LSD usually led to a loss of appetite.

"Would you like to paint? You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"What should I paint?" Caleb queried.

"Something that makes you happy." Mac got up and pulled out the shoebox of paints he had stored. A blank canvas was tucked into the top of the closet. The only thing he was missing was an easel, but Caleb didn't seem worried about it. He put the canvas on the floor and handed Caleb the box and a brush.

There was a small palette tucked in the edge of the box, so Caleb filled it with colors and started his newest piece. It kept him occupied for a couple of hours.

Cullen was getting tired, so he took his son up on his offer to use the guest room for the evening. Mac made himself strong coffee and strengthened himself for a long evening.

-xxxxxxxx-

Throughout the night, Caleb flittered from calm to panicked. It was wearing. There were times where Mac had to be firm. No, they weren't going to start a fire. No, he wasn't to remove all of his clothing and run around naked. No, he wasn't going to allow Caleb's girlfriend to come over to have sex with him. If it were up to him, Caleb's girlfriend would be in jail.

Caleb's suicidal ideation, which Mackland had thought they'd worked through during their early years together, resurfaced. The drug stripped his mind of the feeling of safety – leading him to believe that the only way to prevent his family from being murdered was to die. Mackland was grateful that he'd completed suicide prevention training because it was used to talk Caleb down until he was temporarily stable.

Other times, he played along or asked questions that would diffuse the growing hostility. He'd tease him or make a joke to make Caleb laugh hysterically. The volume would wake Cullen, who'd get out of bed to ask what was so funny until all three of them were laughing. The cycle repeated throughout the night.

Finally, hours later, Cullen managed to convince the sixteen-year-old to sleep. While his own 'acid trip' experiences were more pleasant than Caleb's, he'd remembered a few things that his friends enjoyed during 'bad trips'. Cullen went to the linen closet and pulled out a large flat sheet that he threw over the kitchen table, effectively creating a 'tent'. He created a mattress out of a comforter, pillows, and additional blankets, encouraging Caleb to lay down under the table. Perhaps it was the lack of sensory stimulation or the warmth of the area, but once he was lying down, Caleb fell asleep.

Mac hugged his father in thanks. "Mackland, why don't you take a nap and I'll stay up to keep an eye out for a couple of hours?"

"I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep, Dad. I'd feel better if I stayed up."

"Well, then, why don't you sit down, and I'll make us some cocoa." Cullen offered as another option.

"Chocolate solves all problems?" Mac teased.

With a warm smile, Cullen shared, "Your mother, God rest her soul, would have definitely believed that."

"I didn't know that about her," Mac said thoughtfully.

"She was a lovely woman, but she had a hard time with," he waved his hand awkwardly, "women issues. She would end up in pain, get moody, and the only thing that helped was chocolate. I started making sure we had it stocked in case of an emergency."

Chuckling, he couldn't imagine his father being so nervous about his wife's moods to make sure her favorite snack was always on-hand. "Was it better or worse while she was pregnant?" At this, Mackland was curious. She had died giving birth to him and he'd never gotten to know her. His father was broken by her loss and he'd never wanted to upset him by bringing her up.

Turning to face his son, Cullen had a peaceful expression. "She was better; I'd never seen her so happy even when she was ill with morning sickness. You know they say pregnant women glow – she did. She loved you so much, Mackland." He was stirring the pot of boiled milk, adding in the chocolate powder to make the cocoa.

"Thank you for telling me."

He was handed a mug of cocoa and took a sip. "Maybe mom was right. Maybe chocolate does solve all problems."

Cullen chuckled at that. "Hopefully, when Caleb wakes, things can get back to normal."

-xxxxxxxx-

The next day, Caleb woke up but didn't know where he was. He was surrounded by white sheets and it was dark. His body ached and his mind felt slow, worn out, even though he'd just awoke. It took him a minute to figure out he could get up and crawled out of the area. Blinking at the sun through the wall-to-wall windows of their apartment, Caleb realized that he was home and that he'd been lying under the kitchen table.

He rubbed at his forehead, then padded his bare feet to the bathroom. It took him longer in there than usual. There was something at the edge of his vision, colorful lights and pulsating, but he could ignore it if he focused. Washing his face, he took the time to examine his body, and other than rash-like scrapes on his wrists, he looked the same.

He walked out of the bathroom towards the living area, when his bare feet touched something sandy. Looking closer, he realized he'd stepped in salt and that he disrupted a salt line around the couch. The floor was marked with a skillfully designed pentagram. In a flash, it came back to him; he'd drawn it last night.

Shame flooded his cheeks, wanting to cry. His dad, he'd seen him at his worst. But, grandpa – he'd managed to hide how screwed up he was from him. Cullen always thought he was a normal kid. And last night, he saw. He saw who he really was.

"Caleb?" His dad came up behind him from the pantry, a hand at his back and the other at his wrist. "You look pale, son. Do you want to sit down?" Mac didn't wait for an answer, gently guiding him to sit on the couch and Mac sitting across from him on the coffee table. Reaching for his chin, Caleb didn't pull away when his eyes were examined. "Your pupils are reacting normally this morning. How are you feeling, now?"

"I don't know, Dad. I feel weird. Like I'm not really here." He was trying not to panic but felt he was failing at it. He hid his face in his hands, not wanting his father to see him. Mac had been through enough. He'd put him through enough.

"Caleb, breathe." Mac rubbed his arms. "Everything is alright."

Cullen came out from the guest bathroom, gray hair wet, and being toweled dry as he walked into the living room to check on his grandson. "Good morning, Caleb… Son." He called out his typical greeting.

Under his hands, Caleb went taut. His face had been veiled by his hands and long hair, but he lifted his face to his grandfather. "You can go now." He said it coldly as if he were a machine reporting the weather.

"I beg your pardon, young man?" Cullen responded, not willing to accept any disrespect from anyone as a matter of principle.

"You heard me! Leave." Caleb yelled. "I don't want you here."

Mac had been somewhat stunned at the turn of events. If it weren't for the fact that his son was shaking like a leaf, he would have censured the sixteen-year-old for speaking to his grandfather in that manner.

"Dad," Mac spoke softly, "I'm sorry about this but could you please give me a minute alone with Caleb?" Mac saw the look of hurt in his father's eyes as he swallowed down an angry come-back and stalked off to the guest room.

Once his father was out of sight, he moved to grip Caleb's face. The boy flinched back from him in fear. It had been years since his adopted son had reason to fear him; as he learned that no matter how badly he behaved, he would not be beaten or brutalized. Mac didn't pull away at the first sign of tension; it lasted only a few moments before Caleb realized that his father wasn't trying to hurt him. Mac placed his other hand on his upper arm and was forcing him to lie sideways on the couch, kneeling beside his head so their eyes met. The older man looked serious but was petting his hair. "Caleb, I need you to take a slow deep breath. You're hyperventilating and I'm worried that you'll lose consciousness."

Caleb waited for the ax to fall and for Mac to finally discover that he was protecting a monster that wasn't worth anything. "I know that you're afraid and trying to push us away. We're not going to leave you." The petting continued, so Caleb pushed his hand away with a hiss. Mac moved his hand from Caleb's hair to his chest, ignoring the shove. "Slow, Caleb. Just slow down. It's going to be alright, son."

Everything was hot, the buzzing in his ears loud, and his mouth went dry. For a while, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart. Mac's hand was back in his hair. "Caleb, I want your permission to help you. I think you need something to calm you down. Is it alright if I give you a dose of diazepam?"

The cry flew from his lips subconsciously, "You think I'm crazy?" He felt as if he were gutted.

Calmly, the doctor explained, "No, I know that you're not crazy. I think you're having an anxiety attack after experiencing an involuntary hallucinogenic-drug crisis and that you might a sedative. It's your choice, son. You can say 'no'."

"No," Caleb breathed, shocked that he wasn't getting reamed out or kicked out.

The doctor nodded, "alright. No sedatives. What can I do to help?"

"Go away," it was said tearily into the couch cushion.

Mac didn't take it personally. He shifted to his feet and helped Caleb sit up. "I'll help you to your bedroom so you can rest in there. Neither myself nor your grandfather is leaving, but we'll give you some space and privacy."

Caleb's face was blotchy red and pale but shuffled to his room with his father's support. Mac tucked him into bed; kissed him on the forehead and reminded him they weren't leaving before shutting the door behind him softly. In the safety of his bedroom, he covered his head with the comforter, turned into his pillow, and sobbed silently.

-xxxxxxxx-

Numb.

It was the only way to describe how he felt laying in his bed. The world was going on without him and he couldn't seem to care. He could hear the soft murmurings of his father and grandfather from the living room. The light in the room was soft, then turned bright as sunlight filled his space. He could hear the birds chirping and the traffic on the streets. It had to be lunch-time because the volume was at its day-time loudest. Someone was buzzing inside the apartment, hearing the feedback from the intercom.

There were at least two more men in their home, and they were wearing walkies. It didn't take much deduction to figure out that Mac must've called the cops. He forced himself out of bed and pulled out a comfortable pair of black jeans with a black band t-shirt. Finally, he threw on his leather jacket and slipped a pocketknife in his boot. If he were to be taken to detention, he had to look the part.

He stood tall, walking out of his bedroom like a bad-ass. Rounding the hall, he faltered, catching a glimpse of the police officers sitting at the kitchen table with Mac and Cullen, drinking coffee. Papers were on the table with Mac reading and signing them.

His grandfather caught sight of him and waved him over. "Caleb, my boy, come sit down with us. The officers from last night were kind enough to come for a visit this afternoon." Caleb slowly walked over, nervous, and anticipating the worst.

His father stood, wrapped his arm around his shoulders as if he knew how afraid he was, before guiding him to sit between the two Ames men at the table, protectively. Mac gave him a warm smile, then started the introductions, "Caleb, these are officers Danvers and Ridley. I'm not sure what you remember from last night… but they spoke to you for a short while." There was a round of handshakes that left him feeling as if he were in an alternate universe. Police officers never smiled at him, nor did they shake his hand. They usually tried to chase and handcuff him into compliance before carting him off to another foster home. While Mac had adopted him, there were always ways to dissolve the paperwork.

Mac continued, "The officers were kind enough to drop in instead of asking us to come into the station for a statement. They thought you'd be more comfortable at home after last night." He got up and went to the refrigerator to pull out a Gatorade. The lime yellow drink was uncapped and put in front of the sixteen-year-old. Caleb knew without his father saying a word that he was meant to drink it. He chugged back a long gulp, then recapped the bottle.

Caleb stared at the table, not realizing the officers were asking how he was doing. "I'm fine." He mumbled.

Placing a hand against his shoulder, Mac explained. "Caleb, the officers need to know what happened last night."

Belligerently, he asked, "Why? It was just a party."

Everyone around the table could tell that his tone was angry, but his eyes were haunted. Officer Danvers introduced himself to the conversation. "Caleb, if it's alright to call you that? Mr. Pietro Kovacs has already confessed his guilt this morning, against his lawyer and father's advice, to drugging you with an illegal substance and imprisoning you in his parents' closet. He's also has identified Jennifer Barret, among a couple of others, as an accomplice in your assault. Your father and grandfather have also given their statements. We have enough physical evidence to convict in a courtroom." Mackland could tell the man had experience dealing with traumatized and angry individuals, unlike his floundering junior partner. "We would love to get your statement, but if you're not feeling up to it this morning – we can arrange an appointment at a later time. We can also make sure our counselor is available to you, should you wish to speak to her about the experience."

"They were my friends?" Caleb looked around the table, grasping at straws.

No one answered his unasked question. Mac squeezed his wrist, "They suffered from a lapse in morality and judgment."

"It was just a party, Mac. Everyone was doing drugs." He didn't know why he was defending them.

"You didn't. You told them you didn't want any." Mac said confidently. Even before the First Lady's 'Just Say No' campaign, he'd known the dangers of recreational drugs. The side effects for those with psychic abilities were found to be inconclusive. Some psychics swore by mind-altering substances – claiming their abilities increased three-fold while others became psychotic from the stimulus. A small number claimed to lose their abilities entirely. Researching with Caleb in mind, the doctor found conclusive evidence of near 70% comorbidity in patients with uncontrolled substance abuse and severe childhood trauma. For his son, any type of drug use was a slippery path to a lifetime dependence. Mackland had made sure that Caleb understood the serious risks involved in 'experimenting' with his pathology. Knowing that he was a teenager and that telling him not to do something was the quickest way to doing the opposite, Mac offered their home as a safe place should he forget his promise. If he was impaired, Caleb was to call him for a ride home. Mac would aid him if he faced any negative effects, explaining that with his history and psychic abilities, he could face unexpected neurological or mental health consequences. In the four years that they'd been together, Mac knew Caleb had experimented with marijuana, cigarettes, his grandfather's cigars, and alcohol. After he realized his rebelliousness only lead to lectures and disappointment, Caleb lost the urge to continue his experiments as they didn't lead to the expected result. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that his son was trying to break as many house rules as he could in an attempt to get 'kicked out', fearing that his family would disown him. Caleb was creating a self-fulfilling prophecy that time, patience, and love would defeat.

Mac was proud in that this time, Caleb had done as he had promised. He called his father for help. And Mac had fulfilled his end of the bargain, he came for him. They had been very fortunate that Caleb had not suffered a vision nor attacked an innocent using his psychic abilities during the acid trip. It could have been much worse.

Shame clouded his son's eyes, "I didn't though. I didn't say that, Dad."

The junior officer, Ridley questioned him, arrogantly "What did you say?" He had a pad of paper out and was taking notes as they spoke.

The attitude came back, "I told them I had better stuff in the 3rd grade and that their stuff was shit."

Mac wiped at his mouth to keep from retorting while Cullen was rapidly blinking at his grandson. Cullen gave him a good whack on his upper back, "That was good thinking – much better than that 'just say no' Nancy Reagan crap. Great job, Caleb!"

The officers laughed, nodding along. Danvers agreed, "That was pretty good…" The officer used the levity to their advantage. "So, that was why they dosed you? They thought you were bragging?"

"I guess," Caleb sounded distant, trying to remember the course of events. "We were just bullshitting for a while – I think PK was complaining about his mom or something, then Jenny handed me a drink. I didn't feel anything at first, then after a while, I didn't know what was happening. I think I thought we were being attacked…"

Mac gently told him, "Pietro said that you'd been screaming; having a 'bad trip' and becoming unstable. Hallucinogen use can trigger synesthesia, distortions in sensory perception, as well as mental confusion. The party atmosphere and increased sensory stimulation most likely overwhelmed you. Were there any statements as to why they felt the need to tie and gag my son instead of calling an ambulance?" The last question was directed to the officers.

Factually, Danvers explained that there were unconfirmed reports of Caleb screaming about demons at the top of his lungs. That he'd been 'chanting' in a strange language and throwing salt at anyone who came near him. Some witnesses claimed that he'd gotten ahold of a kitchen knife and started swiping it at anyone who came close in his drugged-out state. A few football players attending the party managed to tackle and disarm him, but he kept screaming. In their own high and fearing punishment if they called for assistance, the only option the teens could come up with was gagging him to prevent him from shouting as well as tie him up so that he couldn't hurt anyone. Pietro confessed to ordering party-goers to shove Caleb in the walk-in closet, thinking the clothing would cushion him similarly to a padded room until he 'came down'.

"I still don't understand. I mean, PK's a stupid dumbass, but why would Jenny hand me the drink? She was my girlfriend." Caleb was rubbing at his brow, thinking, trying to figure out why she'd hurt him.

"Miss Barret is being served a warrant for her arrest. Based on my experience, you may never find out the answer to that question. She's likely to plead the fifth. The fact that Mr. Kovacs confessed is an outlier. He must have genuinely desired to do the right thing."

Cullen offered a question, "What about fingerprints? If Caleb were drugged, could you pull her fingerprints from his cup?"

"That will take some time to analyze. We were able to bag and tag the cups, but unsure as to which cup belong to your grandson. Ultimately, the fingerprints and content of the cups are also going to be processed for evidence for a secondary civil charge on the Kovacs family on your family's behalf using N.Y. GOB Law section 11-110 as we discussed last night with your lawyer, Mr. Ames." Danvers directed the conversation to the elder. "Now, I'm not a lawyer, but from the phone calls we've been receiving from other parents, it'll most likely be a class-action lawsuit. This would be separate from the criminal charges, of course."

Mac got up, and held up the coffee pot asking if anyone would like a refill prior to asking, "What's section 11-110 and when did you have time to file a civil suit, Dad?"

Cullen was haughty, "I called Martin last night and told him to drain that family dry as hay." He waved his hand around as if this was a small matter. "11-110 is a social host liability. You can call the firm later, they can explain the details," as if they were beneath him. Cullen Ames cared about results, not the methods of achieving them in his success.

Mac arched his eyebrow, unamused. They were in polite company, so he kept his critique to himself. He knew when to let things go.

Cullen didn't hold back, squeezing his grandson's shoulder. "No one hurts my family and gets away with it while there's still breath in my body!"

"Dad, please tone down the 'vengeance is mine' speech. We aren't talking about hardened criminals; they are teenagers who made a potentially life-changing mistake. They were Caleb's friends." Turning towards the officers, he asked, "what will most likely happen to them?"

Mac stepped behind Caleb, hands on his shoulders to ground him. The sixteen-year-old had been uncharacteristically silent and he didn't like the dazed look in his eyes. Unobtrusively brushing a finger against the skin of Caleb's neck, he found it to be cold and clammy.

"Again, Dr. Ames, we aren't lawyers; I would advise consulting your legal representative." Officer Danvers gulped down his last sip of coffee, then stood up, motioning for his partner to follow his lead. "Dr. Ames, Mr. Ames, Caleb – I think we have everything we need to wrap things up on our end. We'll pass your statements and evidence to the district attorney's office." The man handed Mackland another card, then they shook hands on their way to the front door. "If you remember anything else, please give us a call, otherwise, we'll consider this case closed."

Nodding, Mackland thanked the team and politely asked his father if he could walk the officers out, not wanting to leave Caleb if he were in shock. When the door closed behind them, Mac sat down next to his son. Grabbing the electrolyte drink, he uncapped it and held it out. "Caleb, can you please take another sip of this?"

"I'm not thirsty," it was whispered. The boy hadn't taken his eyes off the tabletop.

Lowering his head so that he could meet Caleb's eyes, he spoke earnestly, "Caleb, you're worrying me."

"Why couldn't you and Grandpa just let it go? Everyone in School is going to think I narced."

Mac took Caleb's hands, lightly squeezing his fingers, "Ultimately, laws were broken, and people got hurt." [You got hurt.]

Looking up, Caleb said, "They were my friends."

"You trusted them, and they broke your trust. You're trying to understand why, but it's an untenable situation." Recognizing the ruminating thoughts, Mac strategized how to interrupt the cycle. "If someone had drugged Dean against his will, and he had ended up in a similar circumstance, what would you have done to protect him?"

Caleb was slow to come up with a response but landed on "I'd kill them".

Blinking, Mac rolled his eyes and responded in his typical sarcastic manner, "A bit lethal for a first offense, son. Between you and your grandfather…" In the back of his mind, he was already planning an anger management seminar. "What I would hope that you'd do is call the police and report the crime so that you don't end up in jail for murder. It would also have the added bonus of making sure the attackers faced the consequences of their actions."

The dazed expression slipped into despair, Caleb repeating, brokenly, "they were my friends."

Mac felt for him, felt as sad that he was betrayed. "I'm so sorry, Caleb. It wasn't your fault, son. There was nothing you did wrong. You did everything right; I'm so proud of you for calling for help." He ran a hand down his son's hair comfortingly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

His mouth twisted, tears slipping down unbidden, "It's my fault. I'm a freak."

Wiping at his son's cheeks to erase the evidence of his breakdown, Mackland tugged him closer and held him. "I don't want to hear you speak that way about yourself. I know who you are. You are strong, clever, and creative. You're loyal, loving, and kind to your friends. You're giving. Son, you're a good person. You didn't deserve any of this."

"But I thought they were demons. They all know I'm a freak now. Even Grandpa." Finally, they got to the heart of Caleb's fears.

Mac patted his cheek, giving him a small smile, "Caleb, your grandfather is ready to go to war for you. I promise you; nothing has changed in your relationship nor will change because he knows the truth. If anything, I'm quite sure it will bring us all closer together. As for your friends, there's no reason to lie to them about what happened. You were dosed with LSD and had a 'bad trip'. No need to explain anything further than that. If anything, you can be the poster child for 'don't do drugs'." He said the last part tongue-in-cheek, teasingly.

Caleb looked miserable but was building himself back up emotionally. "You can sign me up for the poster because I'll never even think to touch it or anything like it again. I was really scared, Dad. I thought I was going to die or kill myself if it didn't stop."

"I am sorry son. I never wanted this to happen…"

Looking up, Caleb was curious, "You knew what to do to help me… both of you did."

"Well, I had medical training to handle psychiatric emergencies, including hallucinations. When your grandfather comes in, you can feel free to ask him about his own experiences with LSD." Purposefully, he let the idea hang, knowing his son would be like a fish catching the worm.

"Grandpa took LSD?" The fish was hooked.

The front door opened, and the old man walked in. It didn't take long for his son to queue up the question, leaving his father sputtering for an appropriate response.

Mac went back to the kitchen hiding a smile. He'd make sure that Caleb felt safe and secure. While he couldn't do much about the hurt caused by his friends, he'd ensure that he recovered from their betrayal.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I've done extensive research on hallucinogens and trauma, but do not have personal experience with the drugs. Ultimately, this is a work of fiction, so if it doesn't fit the typical experience, you'll have to ignore it as angst-filled dramatic fluff.


End file.
